


glory & gore

by the_one_that_fell



Series: omgcp tumblr prompts [8]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Animal Death, Blood and Gore, Blow Jobs, Cults, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Mild Painplay, Religious (Christian) Themes, Ritual Sacrifice, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Under-negotiated Kink, Unsafe Sex, unsanitary sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 13:51:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12483104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_that_fell/pseuds/the_one_that_fell
Summary: For omgcpumpkins on Tumblr, from the prompt: “Based on this post: Naked, Covered in Ram’s Blood, Drinking a Coke, and Feeling Pretty Good (SMH as a sacrificial cult)”When Johnson first invited him to partake in ritual sacrifice, Bitty laughed at him. “What’s that- y’all gonna sacrifice a keg to the hockey gods?”





	glory & gore

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [@boldly-go-home](http://boldly-go-home.tumblr.com/) for the Latin help and for not questioning me when I didn’t make it clear this was for a fic LOL.

“Ugh, those hockey guys are so weird,” Bitty once heard an upperclassman say. “They’re such a fucking cult, you know? Always together in a pack like a bunch of dogs. It’s creepy as fuck.”

At the time, Bitty had just clenched his jaw and kept walking toward his orientation meeting, pie in hand. What was one stranger’s opinion, really? Maybe that was a good sign, that his new teammates were close friends.

It wasn’t until the season began that Bitty realized just how close that stranger had come to the truth.

* * *

Where Bitty came from, the Devil was very much real and walked the earth on cloven hooves. He’d grown up afraid of the dark, all too aware of the demons that lurked in the shadow of old, oak tree just outside his bedroom window. Even now, Bitty could hear their whispers, could feel their sharp talons against his skin as he drifted in that limbo between the waking world and oblivion.  

It both terrified and intrigued him, this underworld of power and sin. Perhaps he’d belong there one day; after all, his neighbors always said folks like him ended up down there. Maybe that would be where he find his people.

Then he befriended his teammates, something he’d never let himself dream of, and all thoughts of demons and shadows were brushed aside…for a time. 

* * *

When Johnson first invited him to partake in ritual sacrifice, Bitty laughed at him.

“What’s that- y’all gonna sacrifice a keg to the hockey gods?” He’d asked, shaking his head.

Johnson had simply nodded and sighed and said, “You’re not ready yet. I get it. Everyone joins at their own pace.”

Bitty hadn’t been sure what to make of that, but then Johnson had started talking about classes and Bitty forgot all about it…for a while.

* * *

The second time anyone brought it up, Bitty was a little more wary of the invitation.

“Is ‘sacrificing a hog’ a code for piggin’ out on barbeque or something?” He asked, hands stilling as they wove a lattice on top of an apple pie. “‘Cause that’s kinda gross, to be honest with y’all.”

Ransom and Holster exchanged a look and shook their heads. Bitty didn’t know what sort of test he’d just failed, but he still felt a sinking sense of failure deep in his gut. Next time he’d just go along with the joke. Next time he’d be  _cool_.

* * *

Surprisingly, it was Jack of all people who asked the third time.

“Are you coming tonight?” He asked as he wandered into the kitchen. It had taken months, but Jack no longer flinched every time he saw Bitty in the Haus; they were finally warming up to each other, slowly.

“To what?” Bitty asked, not looking up from the cookies he was cutting into fun, holiday shapes. It was a bit early, but the threat of snow had thrown him into a yuletide frenzy, and gingerbread cookies seemed the most appropriate way for him to celebrate when everything was getting so busy.

“The sacrifice,” Jack said, as if that meant something to Bitty.

“Y’all really gotta let me in on that joke,” Bitty huffed. “What exactly are y’all sacrificing? Kegs? Food? Shitty’s pants? C’mon, it’s just not that funny anymore.”

Jack gave him an odd, calculating look. “We usually sacrifice a ram, sometimes a hog,” he said after a moment. “It’s a pre-game thing.”

Bitty rolled his eyes and returned to the cookies. “That’s ridiculous. What’re y’all actually doing? C’mon.”

“Sacrificing a ram,” Jack said again, slowly. “To Mercury. The- the Roman god, you know-”

“With the wingy shoe things?” Bitty asked, exasperation coloring his tone. “Jack, come on, is this a ‘make fun of the southern kid’ thing? I admit to believing in the Devil  _once_  and now y’all are pretending to be some sort of cult-”

“I’m being serious,” Jack said sternly. “It’s an important part of being on this team.”

Bittle pinned Jack with a brutally scrutinizing stare. He knew Jack was, on some level, capable of being funny—Shitty laughed at all his bad jokes—but very few people on the team could keep a joke running this long without cracking. “Okay,” he said, mouth pursed. “I’ll bite. What time?”

“We meet at Faber around 11:45 or so,” Jack said as casually as he discussed classes. “Midnight is the preferred time for the ritual.”

Something about the word  _ritual_  sent a shiver down Bitty’s spine. He’d never taken part in any sort of team ritual before. The closest thing he could think of was communion back home, the drinking of Christ’s blood and the eating of Christ’s flesh. Maybe this would be the same as that; maybe it would be better.

“I’ll be there,” Bitty promised, and the grin Jack flashed him was sharp and almost wicked.

* * *

When Holster strolled up to Faber with a real life ram, Bitty almost ran.

The thing was old-looking, tired, as if it knew its fate and was resigned to it. Bitty wasn’t a vegetarian by any means, and didn’t see the harm in killing animals as long as it was quick and held a purpose. He never went hunting with his daddy back home because so much of that meat went to waste, so much manly pride was taken in the killing of something unnecessary. But this- this seemed cruel and unusual. And yet…it made his skin fizzle with anticipation, excitement.

“Bro, who’s got the cooler?” Holster asked, voice as loud and booming as ever. It seemed out of place, to speak so normally in such a charged atmosphere. The wind rustled ominously in the trees as the group of boys headed toward the trees that lined the back of the rink. Bitty had never ventured into the woods here, had never felt safe doing so. The forests of Samwell cast longer and darker shadows than he was comfortable with; something wicked certainly lurked just out of sight.

But as they traipsed down a small, barely visible deer trail, Bitty understood:  _they_ were the wicked things in the woods. A spark of pleasure coursed through his gut and up his throat. Bitty could’ve sang, had the moment not felt so sacred.

Ransom and Holster led them to a clearing, and as they herded the ram up to a small altar-of-sorts, Jack and Shitty began stripping off their clothes. “What are you doing?” Bitty asked, nerves overtaking his excitement. If this was some sort of horrible, homophobic joke or the start of a truly heinous orgy-

“Blood stains, brah,” Shitty said, tossing his clothes aside. Jack rolled his eyes and folded his own pants neatly before starting on his shirt and jacket. “Skin is way easier to clean off.”

“You afraid of the cold?” Jack chirped, and that was all it took for Bitty to peel off his own layers as well. It  _was_  pretty cold outside, but Bitty gritted his teeth and approached the altar with the other boys, naked as the day he was born.

Were his mama there, she might’ve screeched something about devil worshipping or at least the unsanitary nature of this whole thing, but Eric Bittle was eighteen years old and a long way from Georgia. What his mama didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.

“Don’t worry,” Johnson said, appearing behind him quiet as the grave. “We won’t get caught. It’s not part of the narrative.”

Bitty nodded blankly and returned his attention to the ram, who now struggled against the restraints. Holster pulled a large knife from his backpack and handed it to Jack, who now stood across the altar from Bitty, pale skin practically glowing in the moonlight that filtered through the trees.

“We make this offering to Mercury, great god victorious. Fill us with your power, on this the eve of our trials, and bless our bodies with your strength.  _Gloria in Mercurio, deus ludorum! Laude! Laude!_ ”

The other boys cheered like they were watching a game, whooping and hollering. Even Bitty joined in, shouting  _laude_  like he was back in his church choir on Easter morning. Jack lifted up the knife—rather, dagger—slowly, and the reality of this ritual crashed down around Bitty. This was it.

_This was it._

In the last few seconds of the ram’s life, Bitty watched with an odd sort of desire as Jack raised the dagger high. He looked the picture of ancient, pagan mythology; naked and wild and chiseled from stone. Bitty had always been good at tamping down his feelings, preventing himself from looking at his teammates  _that_  way, but as Jack plunged the blade into the ram’s chest, Bittle knew he didn’t have to be in control anymore. Nothing was forbidden in the woods.

There was more blood than Bitty expected. It squirted out as Jack unsheathed the blade from the beast’s chest, running over the twitching body and down the sides of the altar. Someone pushed Bitty forward, and they all laid hands on the ram, soaking in the last of its heat.

Overhead, something distant rumbled, and Bitty swore he saw a wisp of light, thick and smoky, rise from the ram’s mouth and swirl up toward the darkening sky.

Something electric needled across Bitty’s skin, soaking into his flesh like acid. It was intoxicating, this power he felt, and when he looked up he could see the same drunkenness in Jack’s eyes, staring right at him.

“Someone pass me a coke,” Ransom said, breaking the silence, and Bitty looked around to see that he and Jack were the only ones left at the altar. The blood on his hands had gone cold, and Bitty wondered how long they’d been standing there, just the two of them.

“Bits, hey, dude, have a drink.” Someone tossed him a soda can, and Bitty popped it open without wiping off his hands. The sugar and carbonation were sweet and overwhelming on his tongue, and Bitty relished the coke in a way he never had before. Everything felt raw and new and every sound and smell overstimulated him in the best possible way. Bitty licked his lips, tasting sugar and blood all at once, and found Jack staring at him again, eyes still dark with desire.

“We should race,” Johnson said, giving Bitty an odd look. “Bet I’m faster than all of you.”

“No way,” Ransom said. “Look at these thighs. I’d cream you all.”

“Hey, now,” Holster cut in, voice as loud as ever. “I just got blessed by Mercury, bitches, you fuckers can’t top this shit.”

Shitty, though the smallest and least athletic of the four, shoved Holster’s chest playfully, and suddenly they were wrestling and shouting. “I’LL RACE YOU ALL!” Ransom shouted from under Johnson’s arm. “C’mon, right here, right now.”

“First one to O’Hannigan’s and back wins,” Johnson said.

“The pub?” Shitty asked. “Brah, that’s, like, two miles.”

“You chicken?” Holster asked, shoving Shitty back.

“Bring it on, you stupid, beautiful fuckers,” Shitty barked, and suddenly they were stretching and flexing and pulling on their shoes and no other articles of clothing. If they really intended to  _streak_  for several miles, Bitty was going to stay put and drink all their soda and revel in this new, otherworldly feeling.

“Boys,” he murmured, though part of him itched to join the race. He knew he’d leave them all behind on a regular day, but tonight-

The boys were off, bolting into the thicker part of the forest, and then Bitty was hoisted into the air and pressed up against the altar. Jack had a tight grip on his hips, eyes sharp and wild as he searched for the approval in Bitty’s eyes, and then their mouths met, hungry and untamed.

Bitty had never been kissed like this. He’d never really been kissed at all, to be honest, but he couldn’t imagine any other guy at Samwell kissing him with such a focused, desperate intensity. Jack bit a trail from Bitty’s mouth to his neck, sucking and scraping and devastating Bitty in a truly delicious way. Bitty gasped, raking his nails against Jack’s chest, up his arms. Jack bit harder at his shoulder, almost hard enough to draw blood, and Bitty saw stars, blooming across his vision like ghosts in the night.

“Fuck,” Jack murmured. “Fuck, can I-? Bittle, I want-”

“Do it,” Bitty gasped, rutting up against Jack. “Whatever it is, do it. Bite me, beat me, kill me, just- don’t stop-”

Jack shoved him harder against the altar, the cold stickiness of blood trickling down his back. Bitty keened as Jack shoved him to the ground, then fell to his knees between Bitty’s legs. It almost looked like he was praying, eyes hooded, mouth moving in silent murmurs. He looked up, once more, totally wrecked with power and lust, then he swallowed Bitty down to the hilt.

Bitty gasped, grappling at the the base of the altar to keep from bucking up. It was all too much, the pleasure of it more painful than the bite marks littered across his neck and shoulder. He wanted to kick Jack away, but also never wanted this feeling to end. Like the ram stilling and accepting its death, Bitty arched back against the altar and let out a scream of pleasure.

It was over before it began, Jack suckling at Bitty’s cock until he had nothing left to give. Bitty could barely focus his eyes for how strung out and undone he felt, but when he reached to return the favor, he saw Jack had already found his release, seed thick and dripping into the dirt.

Jack crawled slowly, like a beast just awakened from slumber, until he hovered over Bitty. They panted into each other’s mouths, lips sore and bruised and swollen. When Jack cupped Bitty’s face in his palm, the gesture was gentle, kind, even.

“That was…” Bitty murmured, unable to articulate everything he felt.

“Yeah,” Jack agreed, brushing his thumb along Bitty’s cheekbone.

“Are all the sacrifices like that?” Bitty asked, reaching out to touch the scratch marks he’d carved up Jack’s chest.

“Not always,” Jack said, and he leaned down to kiss one of the angrier bites on Bitty’s shoulder. “But they can be, if you- if you want.”

“I do,” Bitty admitted quietly. He was rewarded with a small smile and a soft kiss. “That was…unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.”

Jack laughed, low and rumbling in his chest, and Bittle reached up to trace those beautiful lips with the blood that dripped down the side of the altar. The residue of the coke in his mouth had become acidic, bitter, and the blood and saliva  and sweat that coated his body was turning cold, but every atom in Bitty’s being screamed and sang and thrummed with a new power, a strange energy. He was holy and blasphemous and capable of beautiful, terrible things.

“You never forget your first,” Jack murmured in his ear, lapping at blood on his jaw. Bitty didn’t know if it was his or the beast’s, but either way he shivered and moaned and sucked greedily on Jack’s tongue, just for a taste of it all.

**Author's Note:**

> Read/Reblog on Tumblr [here.](http://alphacrone.tumblr.com/post/166753640347/glory-gore)


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